


Comfort Object

by TheFrustratedNerd



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Bros Au, Found Family, Hank buys Conan some scarves, Hank is a Good Dad, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, RK900 is named Conan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 10:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15289155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFrustratedNerd/pseuds/TheFrustratedNerd
Summary: Based on the concept of RK900 only keeping his Cyberlife-issued jacket due to the collar of it being a comfort object of sorts. Originally posted on my writing tumblr, @sammies-writings-and-headcannons





	Comfort Object

It had been 3 months since Connor had converted Conan and taken him in as a brother. He still struggled to allow himself to express his emotions—scratch that, he just struggled with emotions in general. The RK900 models were designed to be apathetic, cold and analytical in every aspect of their lives. Emotions weren’t considered when creating them. Every tiny thing Conan felt flooded him, welling up from his chest into his throat and making it hard to breathe, hard to move, and he almost wished he could go back to being an unfeeling machine, numb and emotionless, not having to deal with his heart trying to drown out his thoughts. But he knew deep down that he’d never go back to the way he was, not in a million years. The only thing he found could keep him level headed in upsetting situations was the feeling of the collar of his Cyberlife-issued jacket around his neck. Something about the thick fabric around his throat and against the nape of his neck helped to keep him calm, so despite not being required to wear it anymore, Conan decided it was best to wear his jacket as often as possible.

He would be the first to admit, it was almost degrading wearing it, this article of clothing that claimed he was nothing but a machine, marked with his model and serial number. Conan hated how stiff it was, how it was much too hot now that it was late Spring, but he found these cons to be a necessary evil to keep him from freaking out on a daily basis. He was mulling this over while sitting on the couch petting Sumo, his thousand-yard stare tipping Hank off that something may be wrong with his younger son. Conan was startled out of his thoughts when Hank sat down heavily next to him, the large Saint Bernard in his lap looking towards the older man momentarily.

“You alright, Conan? You seem distracted.” Hank typically seemed distant and uncaring, even when he was expressing concern, but both Connor and Conan were smart enough to know that their dad loved them, he just wasn’t great with showing the softer side behind the gruff exterior. Conan forced a small, awkward smile before responding.

“I’m alright, father. I just,” Conan paused, unsure if he should voice what was on his mind, but finding himself doing so anyway, “I don’t really like wearing my Cyberlife-issued jacket. It makes me feel like people see me as nothing but a machine, even other androids have seemed to dislike the fact that I still have it, as if it somehow makes me less alive than they are.”

“Why doyou still wear it then? Androids _have_ been gaining more and more rights, you aren’t required to have something identifying you as an android anymore, you can wear whatever you want. You are just as alive as anyone else, son.” Hank tried his best to be gentle but pragmatic, knowing that not finding a balance between emotion and logic would only distress Conan further. His efforts were rewarded with a small but genuine smile from the android sitting next to him.

“Well, I find the collar to be reassuring. I’m not sure why, but the fabric assists me in not becoming overwhelmed by my emotions and allows me to remain stable in stressful conditions. I suppose you could consider it a comfort object of sorts, but other than the collar of the jacket it really has no positive effects.” Conan was reluctant to meet his father’s gaze, staring down at the giant dog in his lap instead until he felt a hand rest on his shoulder after a few moments of silence.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, but if it makes you upset then you should try to look for some other option. I don’t wanna have to leave yet, but I gotta run to the store, I’ll be back in a bit, though.” After Hank said this they said a simple “I’ll see you later,” and Conan found himself sitting alone on the couch again, wishing Connor hadn’t had work today. He found it much easier to handle complications of deviancy with his older brother around, as Connor had been a deviant for quite a bit longer than him, and knew how to deal with his emotions by now—for the most part, anyways. Conan sighed, adjusting himself to be curled up with Sumo, his side leaning against the back of the couch as he slowly drifted into sleep mode, with the Saint Bernard he was cuddling letting out a soft, happy “boof.”

Conan was gently shaken out of his sleep by Sumo clambering off his lap to run towards the door, rubbing the drowsiness that came with the short recharging period out of his eyes as Hank walked in the door with a bag in his hand. His internal clock told him it had been 1 hour and 43 minutes since he’d fallen asleep, and he stretched as Hank sat down on the couch in front of him. The bag was plopped unceremoniously onto Conan’s lap, with Hank simply stating that he’d bought him something. Curiosity overtook him and he looked in the bag to find a simple dark grey turtleneck, and a few scarves. The scarf that caught his eye in particular was checkered with a black and white pattern, and a quick—involuntary—analysis told him it was constructed primarily of cotton and wool.

“You said the collar of your jacket keeps you calm, right? Well, I thought maybe it could be substituted by a scarf so you don’t have to wear that uncomfortable thing—it’s gettin’ too hot for it anyways,” Hank explained, Conan unable to prevent himself from leaning forward to hug his father rather suddenly, a wide smile on his face, despite the fact that he felt somewhat stupid that he hadn’t been able to think of this solution himself.

“Thank you, dad. I love them,” Conan’s voice trembled slightly, and he was almost mad at himself for getting so emotional over this. He relaxed considerably when Hank returned the hug, and despite how simple of a gesture it was to buy him some scarves and a sweater, Conan was overjoyed. Even at work, he was treated like nothing more than a machine, created to do a job, and his coworkers often acted as if he had no emotions—and even though he knew this was his home, he’d still had trouble adjusting, but simple things like this were what reassured him that he really was part of the family.


End file.
